Duskfire Glacier Celebration dance

faust glanced her way, hearing the cold clip in her voice—more armor than dismissal. he didn’t prod further. the north had its own way of pulling wolves apart from the ones they raised. sometimes it was time. sometimes it was duty. either way, he understood.
they’ll make strong lives, he said, low and even, eyes catching hers only for a moment before returning to the trail. a simple truth, spoken without fanfare.
when they reached the den—tucked beneath a stone lip and half-shadowed by evergreens—he stopped and looked toward her. her question lingered.
not lonely, he answered, voice rough with the edge of a tired season. but quiet. a pause. then, softer—sometimes quiet is worse.
he stepped aside then, leaving space for her if she wished to enter. he would not ask her to stay. not outright. but the door was open, and the silence wasn’t so sharp with her in it.